blank tile

There’s that restlessness again.  That infringement on my sense of entitlement.  That unresolved dream that you always wanted… until you got it.

Here’s my internal wrestle. On one hand, I defend my right to have a lazy night.  I’ve done my work, I’ve worked hard during today’s nine to five, and well, and it is my right to dwindle my remaining hours of the today, on nothing.

Though a tiny voice is beginning to awaken : you wanted this, this is what dreams look like – investment, making the most of every moment, not living for yourself, growing pain.

You know what’s annoying? Realising that dying to yourself is a pretty ugly thing to swallow, and it doesn’t come naturally.  Sometimes the self-preservation in me just doesn’t want to have anything to do with most people. Yet I’m susceptible to the “save the world” concept, albeit “save the world with minimal moves”, or when I’m tired I may flush the “save the world” under with urgency to save my world.

Yeah.  I cannot comprehend what this dream is actually going to turn into. I used to think I had an idea, but not anymore.  This is my blank scrabble tile – any word, score or possibility could result; and over this next year, I’ll be seeing what other scrabble letters I’m dealt or get to choose.  Then I’ll have to be creative in rearranging that which I have, for the best possible outcome.

One day I’ll write a book and I won’t be so vague.